


A Court of Thorns and Roses drabbles

by sarah_bae_maas



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:53:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_bae_maas/pseuds/sarah_bae_maas
Summary: Assorted drabbles from ACOTAR :)





	1. Don't think about Azriel...

##  [Don’t think about Azriel…](https://sarah-bae-maas.tumblr.com/post/149552074615/dont-think-about-azriel)

When he saw her for the first time, and she took his breath away and he could barely talk. How Rhys and Cassian would smirk at him, because they knew. They _knew_ that there was something different about Morrigan, and not just the radiant beauty that he had never seen before, but the sweet smiles and gentle words that the bastard born had never received before. How she made him forget about his mangled past and his mangled hands and made him feel like he was worth… something.

Don’t think about how Azriel and Mor stayed up at night, expressing their deepest thoughts, him admitting his fears, his insecurities, and her making him feel safer than he would if he had 100,000 Illyrian warriors on his side.

Don’t think about how Azriel went away on a quick meeting with Rhysand and his mother, the woman who had so willingly let him into her precious family, which was important but he couldn’t help it when his thoughts kept creeping back to the blonde with the rich brown eyes and for the first time he really _longed_ for something.  He longed for her.

Don’t think about Azriel’s traitorous thoughts about his best friends cousin, like maybe he is good enough, maybe she might want to be with him too, maybe he should talk to her about it when he gets home. All he knows is that he can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe he should talk to Cass. Yes, Cassian. His brother is a pro when it comes to women, and he would know how Azriel should deal with his feelings, because Cass is his brother and cares about him and his wellbeing.

Don’t think about how Azriel should’ve been focusing on his work, rather than the blonde beauty waiting for him at his war camp.

Don’t think about how when he got back with Rhys and saw the look on Cassian’s face, and smelt his brother on the girl he was infatuated with, his heart sank in a way that it never had before. His stomach twisted and his eyes stung and he felt like the idiot his father always told him he was. How he realised how stupid he had been, thinking he was someone that she would even consider ever being with. How stupid he had been when he thought that the scars covering his hands and the secret fragility he had let her see were anything but repulsive.

Don’t think about how as Rhys raged against Cassian for taking his cousins innocence, Azriel thought about how stifling mad he was. How mad he was that Cassian knew how he felt about her, and knew what the consequences of his actions for her would be, and did it anyway. And how completely selfish he felt for feeling these things. How he had no right to be mad at Cassian for bedding Mor, when they were both two consenting adults and Cassian was more of a man then he would ever be. Cassian was a man who deserved true happiness. Aziel was not.

Don’t think about how for the next 500 years Azriel was hopelessly in love with Mor, but knew that he would never be good enough. That what he had to offer, as a bastard born monster that had more shadows than friends, could never come close to what she deserved. But Cassian, his brother in everything but blood… his best friend who would never see his true worth… he was enough. He was enough for her.

And both him and Mor knew that.

And he would be okay.


	2. Feysand have a second child

Sweat coated Feyre’s body, and she had yet to stop crying and shaking. At least her mate was exactly the same, if not slightly more composed.

Or so she thought.

Rhysand let out a sob as he clutched his newborn baby son to his chest, only minutes after Feyre had given birth.

The healer who had helped Feyre walked over to Rhys and politely asked if she could examine the tiny Fae. Rhys almost refused on the grounds of   
_he’s perfect he’s so perfect you don’t need to look at him can’t you see how miraculous he is?_ But nonetheless carefully handed his son to the Fae healer.

He joined his wife and crouched down beside her bed so that they were eye level, and gently taking her hands in, pressed delicate kisses to her face.

“You’re absolutely brilliant, Feyre darling,” he purred.

She only scoffed at him, tears still falling from her eyes.

“That’s probably the least dramatic birth we’ve ever had in the family. I don’t think there’s ever been a time when someone was simply at home with their husband when they went into labour. Nesta will be so jealous.” She laughed in return. “He’s so beautiful Rhys, did you see his eyes? They’re your eyes, your beautiful eyes.” Feyre let out a sob. “I love him so much. And I love you so much, and he’s so lucky to have you as a father, and I thank the cauldron everyday that you’re my mate-”

Rhysand cut her off by pressing a kiss to her mouth as the healer brought their son to them.

“Just as you said High Lord, utterly perfect.”

She rested the tiny boy in the arms of his mother, who started making small cooing noises at the bundle in her arms.

“I love you Feyre,” Rhys said, stroking the golden tuft of hair on his sons head. “Thank you for giving me a family.”


	3. Feysand "Why the hell are you bleeding" prompt

_Feyre, please, just tell me. Why the hell are you bleeding?_ Rhys frantically screamed down the bond.

He didn’t know what could’ve possible happened to make her small up her mental walls to the point where the only thing he could sense from her was blood. A lot of blood.

He scrapped against her walls, eager for her to let him in, but she was adamantly refusing.

She had been at the Spring Court for over a month now, and her absence and the subsequent worry that Rhys felt for her was driving him insane. Usually she had her mind completely open to him but blocked from any other potential daemati and her throwing up her walls made him think something was seriously wrong.

_Feyre Feyre Feyre I’ll come help you just let me in_

There was still nothing but blackness when Rhys tried.

Eventually, he felt a sliver of space in her adamant wall, and a shot of love down the bond.

 _Feyre, what happened?_ The High Lord demanded.

 _It was nothing, Rhys._ Feyre replied. He could hear relief in her voice. Over what, he didn’t know.

 _Usually so much blood doesn’t mean ‘nothing’. It was the only thing I could feel through the bond._ He shot back. He was still pacing up and down the hallways of the House of Wind. He had been seriously considering summoning an army to get her back and make sure she was safe. It may have been irrational, and Rhys knows that Feyre is more than capable to looking after herself, but he couldn’t just stand by when he could practically taste the metallic blood in his mouth.

 _It wasn’t my blood, Rhys._ Feyre seemed tired, more so than usual. _It was Lucien’s. We were attacked while on the way back from town by Hybern’s soldiers. It seems that my performance isn’t convincing enough._

 _Are you alright? Do you need me to come?_ He asked.

 _Not yet, my love. Soon, there is only so long I can drag this out before somebody realises what’s going on._ The High lady explained.

_If you were hurt Feyre-_

_I’m not, and I won’t be. Besides, I’m rather enjoying watching these idiots think I’m some hopeless damsel in distress._ He could hear a glimmer of playfulness in her voice, a playfulness he had dearly missed. I will come home soon, Rhys, but not yet. There is still so much I can learn.

_I know it’s probably pointless to say this, but please be careful._

The fear must have shown in Rhys’s voice, Feyre immediately sending soothing vibes through their mate bond.

_I will come home to you, Rhys. You are mine, and I will always be yours._


	4. Rhys takes his daughter flying when she loses her wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a cut-out from my fic A Court of Hearts and Darkness - I suggest skipping this if you haven't read it :)

His daughter may have been seventeen years old, but she would never be old enough to not seek him when she was upset. 

She had woken up crying again - nightmares of  her wings being destroyed tormenting her in unspeakable ways. 

“Hey there,” Rhys whispered as he brushed a tear away from her face.

“Father?” She curled up against him.

“Yes, my little butterfly?” 

“Can you take me flying?” She sniffled.

He’d been waiting for her to ask, wondering how long it would take. 

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Feyre was asleep in his lap, so he gently pushed her to the side and got up. He held out his hand for his daughter to take, which she did immediately. He let go of her once she was up and instead placed his arm around her shoulder. 

“Where would you like to go?” He asked her as he ushered them from their home. 

“I don’t care. Anywhere. I miss the lights, the wind on my face. I just-” She cut off and her face contorted in a way that Rhys knew she was trying not to cry.

“No, no, no, don’t do that. It’ll be fine, I promise.” He hugged her close to him and kissed the top of her head. 

She let out a broken sob against his chest and his heart shattered. He didn’t say anything, he simply held her tighter and shot them into the air - far, far away from her nightmares on the ground. 

She let out a squeal of surprise and looked up. He didn’t fly hard or fast, he just glided through the air in the leisurely way he did when she was just learning to fly as a child. 

She piqued up to look over his shoulder at the sight Velaris had to offer them. It was a perfect night. No clouds despite it being winter, no overly horrible chill, faeries and music bustling beneath them. It was Velaris at its rarest and finest perspective. 

“It’s as wonderful as I remembered,” she murmured. 

“And it will be like this for the rest of your life. You _will_ fly again, Laya. This is just a temporary lapse that we will recover from. I swear to you, my little one, that once you are fully healed you can sneak out as much as you want and fly until the sun rises. Okay?”

She let out a half laugh half sob and nodded. “Alright.”

“That’s if you don’t mind me sneaking out with you,” 

“Never,” She wrapped her arms around his neck and continue to look around them. 

Rhys let her cry for hours while she gazed at the view, neither saying a word. He knew she needed to get out her tears, to solidify this image in her mind so that the beast that took her wings away was no longer the only thing she saw when she closed her eyes.

And in the morning, when they finally landed, she slept a peaceful sleep with him sitting beside her holding her hand - waiting for the day when he could fly free with his daughter once more.


	5. Rhys has a nightmare

Rhys was all I had come to know. With all my doubts about my family, _our_ family, my role, my decisions, he was the one constant I had never doubted. To doubt him was to doubt myself, we were so intertwined.

Although he was all I knew, there were parts of him still, to me, that were a mystery. As I for him. It wasn’t about holding back, it was about acknowledging that we were still separate individuals. Individuals that were healing. Slowly.

We were like the crumbling shells of the buildings left in Velaris after the war. We were the fallen trees, and decimated forests. We were the now-blunt weaponry.

We were not the same, but we would be complete again – with time.

Rhys thrashed beside me again, his moans of pain reverberating in my ears. There was nothing I could do other than hold down his arms and try to wake him up. I thought the pressure of my body atop his own would have done it, and I can’t think of how horrific his dreams must be for my usual techniques to not bring him back to me.

After what felt like hours of my shaking and pleading with him, his eyes fluttered awake only to quickly close as he hissed. My poor mate was covered in sweat, and it had dripped into his eyes, stinging him.

“Feyre,” he moaned.

“Hello there,” I whispered as I gently wiped his face with our blanket. The hands that had been scrunched into tight, bony fists were now opening, his chest heaving as his breathing normalized again.

“Did I – did I hurt you?” His eyes, now squinting at her, were lined with his unshed tears.

“No, never.” I lied on his chest, and his arms encircled me, his breath hitching with the weight of my scent. He did not close his eyes again, no, he wouldn’t sleep again this night, and I would stay awake with him. Together, we would rebuild this city. Together, we would rebuild ourselves.


End file.
